


Wolfcall

by dustyknighty



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, To Be Edited
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-09
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-13 07:10:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11754696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dustyknighty/pseuds/dustyknighty
Summary: Stiles' walk home from the library is usually pleasant.It's quiet, he can focus on his own thoughts, and the only thing he has to worry about is what to make for dinner when he gets home.But tonight, Stiles has more on his mind, and it's a catcall (wolfcall?) that snaps him out of it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not going to make excuses because this what my ability is like for now. I do hope you like it though.
> 
> I would like to put a note here though, to say that I understand that catcalling is not nice, and that this was just an idea that came to me as I was falling asleep.

Stiles walked carefully, with his hands holding on to his backpack straps to help with the weight. Checking his phone every so often, he would huff and move his legs just a little faster. He got to the point where he just shoved his phone in his pocket out of frustration. He wished his phone would ring.

He neared a place that looked busy, despite the rest of area which looked quite dead. There were some people just drinking casually against the wall, while the inside pulsed music through the open doors. He paused to check the name, licking his lips out of habit as he did.

 

“Hey cutie,” Someone whistled, “Let me buy you a drink.”

 

 Stiles rolls his eyes and lets out a breath of disbelief before he looks at his admirer. From his tight fitted shirt, he could see the athletic build; probably works out at a gym. Despite him holding a beer, he’s tipsy... but only just. Beside him is someone with a more balanced build, deep V neck, probably also works out. Both seem to be in their…late thirties, early forties?

 

Usually, things like this did not bother Stiles.

Usually, things like this didn’t happen to Stiles.

But now it is and Stiles has to take matters into his own hands.

 

 He rolls up his sleeves, a finger pointing at the man as he makes his way briskly over. His brows are bunched together, lips pressed into a thin line, and he grips his fingers tighter together.

 

 “Woah, buddy,” The man chuckles, as if this lanky kid is actually going to do be able to do something to him, “Chill out, it’s a comp-li-ment.” He lets the 't' out harshly.

 

 His buddy besides him just smiles, amusement visible in his eyes as he sips from his cup. Stiles hopes he didn’t make a mistake.

 

 “A compliment huh? Well, let me tell you something…” Stiles gets close, close enough that he can smell the alcohol, and his finger lightly presses into that t-shirt. _Yup, works at the gym._

 

The Athletic One grins and the V Neck smirks. Stiles’ eyes dart around quickly to scan the area.

 

 He lowers his voice and speaks almost as quickly as his heart is beating, “Please pretend like I’m yelling at you and get angry at me. Someone’s been following me for a while. NO, YOU SHUT UP AND YOU LISTEN TO ME! Please get me inside, I’ll pay you. I can explain more later but- “

 

All the while Stiles is tapping his foot ~~impatiently~~ angrily. His arms are crossed except for the occasional arm flick to prove his nonexistent point. This stops rather abruptly when Athletic One grabs his forearm and gives his body a tug.

 

“No, you little dip shit. YOU listen. I paid you a nice compliment.”

 

“THIS? This is physical assault! Let go of me you fucker.” Stiles speaks through his teeth to keep them from chattering.

 

He pushes and pulls as believably as he can. Then he realizes he doesn’t need to act because, damn, this guy is strong. He picked the right guys…he hopes.

 

“You know what happens to boys who don’t know their manners?” He starts pulling Stiles towards the entrance with forceful tugs of the arm.

 

“Let’s find out.” His friend finally decides to play the part and helps him push Stiles in.

 

Stiles makes noises that sounds a verbal struggle. Out of the corner of his eye, Stiles sees the figure move just enough that he can make out the outline. Stiles misses the casual wave the Athletic One makes to the card checker.

It’s like walking into jelly. Music engulfs him, alcohol fills his nose, and the heat that sticks to him is…well, yucky. The… no, not fear, the anxiety that made his heart beat was replaced by the loud vibrations of some sort of re-mix. His eyes take in everything like it’s gulping for air.  
It’s packed, people pressed up against each other; some because they want to, some because they can’t help it, some because they’re stuck and too polite to push others out of the way.

Once they’re fully inside, he means to thank the two, pay them, and find a phone to call…someone. They pretty much push him in deeper as they make their way behind the bar. The athletic one nods at the bartender and pushes a button that allows them into one of the back rooms.

Stiles knows better than to go into a room with two strangers, especially one who cat-called him earlier, but he physically has no choice what with the grip on his arm.

 Once inside, the door closes and the sound is mostly blocked out. It looks like a karaoke room; there’s a large tv, some mics on the side, and a door leading to what seems like a bathroom.

 

 Stiles breaths out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, and sits near the door, “Thanks guys. That was awesome of you guys, really. Sorry for doing that to you. I’ll pay you guys right now, and be out of your hair.” His fingers fumble around to find his wallet.

 

 “No problem, how long has it been following you?”

 

 “A while. I was at the library and whoever it is must’ve followed me from there. Probably just waiting for the perfect opportunity that I never gave.” Something tickles at the back of Stiles' mind.

 

 “Why didn’t you call your friends?”

 

 “…Actually,” And Stiles feels his cheeks heat up, and the feeling of the metal block in his pocket suddenly itches against his thigh, “It died. I thought it was plugged in at the library until I realized it wasn’t properly plugged in. Sorry to ask for more but uh…can I borrow a phone… or something?”

 

 The V neck looks at his friend who looks back with his hands up. He sighs and pulls out his phone, tossing it near Stiles.

 

 “Thanks. I promise I’ll pay you guys back.”

 

 “Nah, it’s okay.”

 

 Stiles looks up as he dials the numbers.

 

 “I said I’d treat you to a drink. You can pretend this is that.” He winks.

 

 Stiles dials the numbers a little faster and holds it up to his ear.

 

 “Hello? Who is th-“

 

 “Derek, it’s me.” Stiles turns away from the two, cupping the phone and speaking in a hushed tone.

 

 “…” A deep sigh, “What is it now Stiles?”

 

 “I need you or somebody else to come get me. Someone, or thing, was following me and I don’t think it’s just because of my excellent choice in books.”

 

 “…Where.” Already Stiles can hear the keys jingle and the soft clunks of boots on wood.

 

 “…Uh…” Stiles looks around the room for a second.

 

 “888 Littleroot Avenue.” The V neck finally speaks, and Stiles feels that something is different in his voice, and his smirk… and his stare.

 

 “Wha-“

 

 “Stiles…who are you with?” The car purrs in the background.

 

 Alarms. He wets his lips and his heart races. The clues. The fucking clues. He feels like Steve, missing all the blue paw prints despite the children screaming at him.

 

 “ **Hi Derek**.” Stiles’ head whips to the singsong voice, which came out of a shit eating grin.

 

 Derek's voice barely registers in Stiles' head, “…Biec.” _Run._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles spends most of his time sitting on a table in his underwear.
> 
> Derek has a nice talk with his uncle Peter.
> 
> There's a moment they admire Peter's very clean bathroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was originally going to have Theo be a character named Clark, until I remembered Theo was a character that existed. So please disregard my previous comment that Peter and his friend were supposed to look like they were in their late thirties; Theo shall be approximately the same age as Stiles and the others. 
> 
> I've also tried to proofread multiple times, and this is the end result. If a grammar or spelling mistake is pissing you off, let me know.
> 
> Otherwise, I hope you enjoy.

Stiles furrows his brows and presses the phone harder against his face, “What? Derek? Derek!"

 

He moves towards the door and once his hand touches the cool metal of the door knob, he’s pulled back onto the couch and the phone is confiscated. Derek manages to sneak in a worried sound before the call is terminated.

 

“Wait! I wasn’t gonna run off with your phone, I couldn’t hear my friend clearly so-“ He babbles, eyes darting, the picture of innoc-

 

“So… you thought walking out to the dance floor would be a great idea? Shame, you looked smarter than that.” Athletic One tuts.

 

“Yes Stiles, stay a while. Now, while Theo may be satisfied just by saving you, you still owe me some sort of payment.” Stiles glares at the condescending smirk, Theo just shrugs with a smile.

 

“Who are you?” He wishes he could growl, instead, he settles for a menacing scratchy voice.

 

“I’m Derek’s uncle, Peter.”

 

It takes a while to process.

Derek’s family. The Hales.

All of them died in a fire a long time ago.

Accidental fire? Unsure.

But it left Derek to be a shell of the man that he was, and he was just starting to come out of it. Derek doesn’t talk much about his family unless they meet some old enemies. He might have mentioned an uncle once. But everyone should have died. Derek barely escaped. All they found were ashes, and some remains that were… _unidentifiable_.

 

He can’t help blurting out the obvious, “You survived the fire?”

 

“…Tell me, how do you know my precious nephew?” He crosses his legs and leans back.

 

* * *

 

  

The whole pack knows by now that Stiles is in some sort of danger. Telepathic conversations have already happened, calls have been made.

 

Usually, the pack members like to act alone for whatever reason, despite how much they like to boast about how close they are with each other.

 

Those with power like to believe they can do anything themselves.

Those with kindness fail to see how endangering themselves causes nothing but worry and trouble for others.

Those with pride don’t understand that it is not worth their life.

Stiles is not exempt from this list.

 

By now, the pack has understood that Stiles likes to bring in the most troublesome of dangers, and these were usually best taken care of in pairs, or more.

 

* * *

 

 

 By the time they’ve entered the room where Stiles’ scent is the heaviest… Stiles is no-where to be seen. Instead, dear old Uncle Peter is sitting there, with a glass of whisky two thirds gone, and a bottle of it on the other side of the table. There’s a moment Derek’s heartbeat quickens a little at seeing Peter.

Peter is…was, family. Peter is the only Hale besides himself that is alive and remembers the days before the fire. Yes, Peter was a huge prick, but it’s not like there weren’t times that were actually enjoyable. Derek pushes through his thoughts and focuses on the grown-up prick in front of him.

 

“Derek! It has been so long. Look at how you’ve grown!” Peter rises, arms spread, eyes wrinkling from his smile.

 

“Fuck off. Where-” Derek’s eyes swallow his words.

 

There are objects strewn around that carry Stiles’ scent. His backpack, a jacket, a plaid button up, a t-shirt…shoes…socks…and his jeans…

Of course, Scott sees it too.

 

“ **Where’s Stiles?!** ” Scott lunges to grab Peter by his V neck, and he’s held back by a knowing Derek and a smart Lydia.

 

Peter lets his arms drop and rolls his eyes, “Rude. I can see your taste in people hasn’t changed very much.”

 

“And I can see you’re still the same arrogant, condescending bastard you were before.”

 

“And neither has your intelligence it seems. Doesn’t seem right to insult the man who is holding your friend captive.” Peter sits back down and crosses his legs. He takes a slow sip of his whiskey, brow arching as though to challenge Derek to insult him some more.

 

Derek is about to bark out something else but Lydia’s nails digging into his arm stops him. She has her lips pursed the way she likes to do, and she clears her throat as she makes her way to the front, heels clicking on the floor.

 

“Puppies, down,” Derek glares at her and Scott gives a similar annoyed look. Lydia smiles, condescension levels rising, “He can’t do anything, and I know where Stiles is.”

 

Peter drags his eyes from the top of Lydia’s perfectly arranged hair, to her tip of her clearly polished heels and back up, “I take it back, seems like at least one person amongst you has a level head on her shoulders.” He places his empty cup on the table, and raises his brow at Lydia.

 

“Aw, thanks Uncle Peter.” She bats her eyelashes, and her smile quickly drops into a scowl of disgust.

 

“What do you mean Lydia?” Scott’s insistent tone makes Lydia regard him in the same way a tired teacher regards their annoying student.

 

“It never ceases to amaze me, Scott, that despite being werewolves, what with your heightened sense of…everything, you fail to notice the finer details in life.”

 

Scott holds Lydia in his eyes.

His best friend, practically brother, is nowhere to be seen. Stiles has had his clothing removed, and is defenseless. All this bickering bullshit has not led them anywhere, and Lydia, Queen of Drama, has the ovaries to actually do this kind of shit right now?

Scott’s a good guy. He can take _bullshit_. He can let insults be words.

But Stiles, is fucking missing, and here they are, wasting time.

Wasting. **Stiles’**. Time. 

His eyes flash red, and Lydia silently regrets what she said. Just a little.

 

“Spit it out Lydia.” Derek enunciates his stops, keeping his eye on his alpha.

 

She gives him a side glance, and opens her mouth, “Scott, was it? So… you’re the one Stiles kept talking about. “

 

Lydia slowly turns her head, her lips forming a small 'o'. _He. Fucking. Cut. Me. Off.  
_ Peter smiles and shrugs, as if to suggest that she deserved it.

 

“Strange, you sounded so much more…” Peter makes some vague hand gestures and gives up with a shrug, “when Stiles was describing what you would to do me…during what I did to him.”

 

“ **What did you do to him?!** ” Scott’s fangs drop down and his breathing comes out as huffs and puffs.

 

Peter gestures to the clothes carrying Stiles’ scent, “What do you think, dear boy?” He flashes his pearly whites, which falters only slightly when Lydia slams the washroom door open.

 

They all stare at the porcelain white room, which smells like a clean lemony fresh air freshener. Lydia, refusing to believe she was wrong, stomps inside and completes a thorough check.  
Despite how she acts, she believes in her werewolves. Their sense of smell should have led them straight to Stiles, and even with Stiles’ clothing as bait, they should have known if Stiles had left this place.

 

She comes out and points at the older Hale with commanding stance, “Tell me where he is, and I’ll open up the mountain ash.”

 

Scott and Derek look down; indeed, a line of mountain ash cuts off the room, keeping Peter to his side. It also kept Peter from refilling his cup from the bottle of whiskey, which Lydia was closest to.

Stiles understands his weaknesses, for there are many in comparison to his supernatural companions. So, he keeps himself safe, the way a constantly worrying, contemplating, strategizing young adult does. He keeps a sack of mountain ash in his pocket, and wolfsbane around his neck, among the other things he’s learned about after their trials.

After realizing that Stiles had defense mechanisms hidden, Theo stripped Stiles down, thus, the decorative littering of dirty laundry.

 

Peter claps, slow, mockingly, with a smirk that would infuriate a newborn baby.

 

“…He’s not here, is he? He used Stiles’ clothes to lead us here, probably wiped Stiles down with Lysol wipes, and now Stiles is still. Fucking. Missing.” Acknowledging that Peter was not going to be of any threat to them, Scott runs out, clearing up a path with brute strength.

 

Lydia sighs, gives Derek a look, and her heels click as she tries to catch up with the grumpy puppy.

 

Peter hums, satisfied, and clasps his fingers together, “This, has made my night! And here I thought I was going to have to end it with some pretty thing _begging_ me to-”

 

“If I find out that you did anything to him, I swear-“

 

“Honestly Derek. Do you really have time to be making threats right now? Although… I wouldn’t mind continuing this pleasant conversation with you later. It’s been a while since the Hales have had a family reunion.” He cradles the empty cup in his hands.

 

“You, have no right, to call yourself a Hale after what you did.” Derek’s voice is raspy, and his finger jabbing in the air at Peter with every pause…seems to be the only way he can express himself without exploding.

 

His expression doesn’t change, and he sets his glass down, “…Tick tock Derek. That cute pup won’t be able to find Stiles by himself.”

  

* * *

 

He got over the feeling of cold a while ago and sat comfortably in his underwear, on the table. The scratchy fabric of the couch was making his skin itch, and he didn’t want to imagine what might be, or have been, on the black tiled floor. Stiles has already tried to escape, kind of. There are no vents or windows to speak of. The door is locked and yes, he has already tried to pick it, like he does every lock. He wishes he had his backpack with him.

 

He sighs, and runs his hand through his hair. He was debating between chicken parmesan or mac and cheese. He was going to pour himself a nice caffeinated drink, and flip through his books and make notes into the early morning. _Probably jer-_

“Stiles, you can go.”

 

Stiles scrambles to his feet, stubs his toe, curses, and stands with as much dignity as his body will allow. Theo raises and eyebrow and leans against the door frame with the grace of weeks practicing that movement in the mirror.

 

“What, you’re not going to lock me up, torture me… read me your diary, braid my hair?” Stiles curses his mouth for giving suggestions and tries to convince himself that at least he switched it up at the end.

 

“…No, not today.” Theo has a smile tugging at his lips and throws Stiles his clothes.

 

He catches the jeans first, then one sock, and everything else just slides down him. Stiles has changed enough in locker rooms to not care that someone is watching him as he dresses.  
This is too easy. Bad guys usually like to share all the horrible things that they’ve done. Theo is just…quiet. Staring, but quiet.

 

“Really? Just like that, I can go? If there are strings attached, or if my friends sold their liver, I want to know.” Stiles pushes his head through his shirt, “…please.”

 

“You can stay if you want, I don’t mind. Either way, we’ll definitely be seeing each other again.” Theo smiles a pearly white grin.

 

“…No thanks. Please, don’t go out of your way for little ol’ me.” Stiles puts on his jacket, decides he’s ready, then reevaluates, “Where’s my backpack?”

 

“Peter has it.”

 

“…”

 

Stiles doesn’t know what to say. Is he allowed to go get it? Will he be killed if he does? How will he explain his lost library books? Is he supposed to know what to do or did he miss the introductory course to being kidnapped?

 

“He wants you to go get it when you break him out.”

 

 _Thank you, Theo_ , “And get killed in the process? I thought you were letting me go?”

 

“You can walk, or… I can carry you?”

 

“Just out these doors and down the stairs, right?” Stiles shuffles his way past Theo, who closes the door behind him because that’s what you do after opening a door.

 

* * *

  

The music is still pumping, and the scent of sweat and piss has grown heavier; how have more people found space to cram themselves into?

He could run. Ditch his library books, try and escape. _Yeah, then get caught because they go to the gym and run something miles an hour, and I go to the library and read words…even…faster than that._

Peter hasn’t moved much; maybe his right leg is now on top of his left. The door opens and closes behind them, Stiles knows his friends aren’t there but he checks anyways.

 

“Hey, Peter. How you holding up? How about, I clean up this mountain ash, you go get a refill, and we never see each other again?” Stiles nods as he speaks, as though this will help persuade Mr. Calm, Cool and Collected.

 

“Your friends were here.” Peter doesn’t look at Stiles, just runs his finger on the rip of his glass. _Great, he likes to play games._

 

Stiles’ foot starts tapping and he crosses his arms after he gives his nose a rub, “What did you do with them?” Stiles has been lectured enough to take on the exact stance his dad takes when he knows Stiles did something wrong.

 

“I let them go.”

 

Stiles breaths out something like a laugh, and discreetly sniffs the air as he inhales. No hints of copper. His eyes travel, there doesn’t seem to have been a struggle anywhere…unless one of them had a dire need to go to the bathroom?

 

“Clean up the ash Stiles. No blood was spilt, and your friend Lydia kicked an unlocked door open. I also have no plans to dirty my room with your blood. Unless you’d like to change my mind?” Peter arches a brow, and Stiles notes their trend of posing threats as questions.

 

“Got a mini vacuum?” Mountain ash is hard to come by; Stiles needs as much as he can save.

 

Theo holds up a brush and dustpan. Stiles groans and goes to take it, but Theo doesn't let go, and something resting on Theo's chest catches his eye.

 

"My wolfs-"

 

"Don't forget what I said Stiles."

 

 He's said a lot things that Stiles didn't really register to be all that important. And right now, he would really like to get his wolfsbane back because that is also something that's hard to come by. Stiles looks up.  
Theo is looking at him the way a child does when they've decided to save up to buy the thing they want. There's a moment when it seems like Theo is looking a little deeper than that, but he lets go of the cleaning utensils with a shove and Stiles loses his balance.

 

"See you later Stiles."

 

Peter says and does nothing during this exchange. Only watches with slight amusement in his eyes, and simply walks away with his whiskey bottle when Stiles breaks the line.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A sneaky peaky at the next chapter.
> 
> \---
> 
> Once they enter the room, Derek hugs Stiles, giving him a good whiff of his body wash.
> 
> “He’s that bad, huh?” Stiles hugs back, adjusting his head so his words aren’t muffled by Derek’s shoulder.
> 
> “Yeah.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They find Stiles, and Stiles and Derek have that hug that I promised in the previous chapter.
> 
> After this chapter, this series shall go on hiatus until I get more ideas.

“Stiles? ... **Stiles**!”

 

Scott tackles him with a hug that could make anyone claustrophobic, Derek visibly relaxes, and Lydia calls the others to let them know their troublemaker is back.

 

“Where the hell were you?”

 

“It’s good to see you too buddy.”

 

“We’ve been searching all over! Are you okay? What did he do to you? How did you escape? You…you’re wearing your clothes.” Scott takes a step back.

 

Stiles smells like Stiles. No pain, less anxiety than he was expecting, with just a hint of sweaty piss.

 

“He didn’t…do anything to me. Took my clothes, gave them back. Just… asked some questions and let me go.” Stiles smiles to calm his friend down.

 

“What did he ask you?” Derek steps in, but Scott is still trying to make sure his fragile human friend hasn’t been bruised.

 

“He said he did things to you. Said…said you said I was going to do things to him…or…something?” Scotts brows furrowed, and his arms remained on Stiles’ shoulders.

 

“…He…oh…when he put me in the other room, I said my friends would come and find me?” Scott wasn’t making much sense and Stiles looks at Lydia.

 

“Scott, you’re not helping. Peter was obviously just messing with us. Fucking bastard…” Lydia mutters beneath her breath as she makes her way back to Derek’s car.

 

“What did he ask you?” Derek raises his voice a little, and Stiles finally turns to face him.

 

“He-“

 

Scott reminds them of Stiles’ earlier pursuer so they decide to relocate first. But Derek wants answers, and he is not one to care care that they have school tomorrow or an essay to hand in.

 

The drive back is silent.

 

Lydia is tired and just wants to remove her make up when she gets back. She’d never admit it but her heels are killing her and it’s never fun to worry for Stiles. Then there are the two meatheads she calls friends that like to act first, think later. She gets dropped off first, wishes them a good night, and remembers to print out her essay before going to bed.

 

Derek is brooding, obviously thinking of all the questions to ask. The uncle he thought was dead is now here, in Beacon Hills. And it looks like he’s been here for a while. Derek needs to know everything to keep himself, and his pack, safe. The fact that Peter kidnapped Stiles goes to show that he clearly wants to start something. Derek just needs to figure out what before it happens.

 

Scott also has questions, so he fights back when Derek goes to drop him off. When Derek’s in one of his moods, he can get very pissy. Scott can deal with pissy, but Stiles is someone who usually unintentionally further aggravates others. So, if Scott didn’t sense the pain and need from Derek, he wouldn’t have just let them off with a warning.

 

“…Fine. But just remember, none of this is Stiles’ fault. And Stiles is Stiles.”

 

Derek doesn’t look at Scott but he nods. Stiles gives Scott a thankful look before he closes the door.

 

 

Once they enter the room, Derek hugs Stiles, giving him a good whiff of his body wash.

 

“He’s that bad, huh?” Stiles hugs back, adjusting his head so his words aren’t muffled by Derek’s shoulder.

 

“ **Yeah**.”

 

Derek doesn’t usually get too worried when they’re facing the threats that come to Beacon Hill. He has trained and watched his pack grow stronger, and smarter, to know that they can get out of most troubles. But occasionally, Derek worries that he’ll lose his pack again.

 

He worries that he’ll be the last one surviving and that maybe this time he’ll stay broken. This causes him to take actions without thoroughly thinking them through, and take unnecessary risks; as though he was trying to sacrifice himself to save the rest of the pack. Stiles and Lydia both notice this, but Lydia is the first to voice her discontent. So something must be done; Derek needs to talk. But to who?

 

A therapist is a no-go because, how do you speak honestly with someone who you know is not going to believe you?

Scott, being their alpha, is not really the kind of person you go to with your worries unless you want to be mothered and looked after for the rest of your life. Stiles is a good example.

Lydia…well, she’s Lydia. Derek talks to Lydia if he wants information. They don’t exactly hang out.

Allison can be trusted with having Dereks’ back in battle, but…it would just be awkward for the both of them.

So, Stiles brings it upon himself to talk with Derek.

 

He doesn’t sugar coat, he sandwiches. He shows Derek that he gets it. Derek is going through stuff. But if he doesn’t chill the fuck out, he’s not only going to get himself dead, he’s going to bring everyone else down with him. Stiles is also just awkward enough that he can make awkward hugs seem okay. Human touch can go a long way, and with someone who literally belongs to a pack? It seems like a good thing to do. Stiles also doesn’t make unnecessary comforting actions, and does his best to refrain from making comments.

So, Derek goes to Stiles.

 

Once the hugging is done, Stiles sits on the couch and Derek brings over some water.

 

“When you’re ready, tell me everything.”

 

Stiles takes a gulp… or four… before he begins, “Kay, so, I was in the library, looking for more books on seers and…”

 

He recounts how he felt like someone was watching him. Every time he left the library to go to the washroom next door, they must have thought he was leaving because he would feel someone following him too.

But you know Stiles, once he gets researching, he can tune a lot of things out.

So, when the library closes and he has all this information mixing around in his head, he forgets about his pursuer. Until, he starts hearing the footsteps and he knows he’s not imagining things.

He was originally going to walk home, but he wasn’t about to bring whoever or whatever it was home with him. The next best thig was fast-walking down the streets trying to find some place that was open. He also wasted the last of his phone’s battery life by using it as a flashlight and as a watch. He would have called someone but… he was worried they would do something if they knew he was calling for help.

So he goes to these two guys who, lo and behold, were his captors. Stiles mentions his frustration at not noticing the signs earlier.

 

“I should have known… he said _‘it’_! Not he, or she, or they. Who uses ‘it’ as a go-to pronoun? Also, I am so obviously a minor, and the he asks me ‘why didn’t you call your friends’ instead of my family, or my parents. Then there’s the hearing you through the phone when he clearly should not have been able to Also, and I know you’re going to hate this but it’s the truth, he’s a little bit like you. Like in the beginning. Kinda like… a pompous jerk who acts like he owns the place, which I later find out, he actually does. And also, who whistles at someone anymore anyways? And why the hell would they whistle at **me**?” Stiles pauses to take a breath, and his eyes widens, “Oh! But you’re better now! Much better! Totally improved.”

 

Derek rolls his eyes, “Thanks.”

 

Stiles smiles sheepishly, “So… that’s kind of it and where my phone call with you ends. After that, he just kinda kept asking me questions.”

 

“What kind of questions?”

 

“…A lot of questions about you. There were some other ones like, how has Beacon Hills been. What happened to the Hale Estate after the… uh…yeah. Then he asked me…well he didn’t word them very nicely, but I feel like he was trying to ask how you were.” Stiles pauses to check Derek’s reaction.  

 

“Sometimes he would ask about the pack, but that also felt like he was just trying to feel out where you were in the pack pyramid. I answered the ones I thought were pretty general, and just kind of passed on the others. By the time he started to get annoyed with me, he sensed that you guys were coming so he had Theo take me somewhere else. I managed to put down the mountain ash before I left cause I was worried that maybe he would hurt you guys or something. I mean…”, Stiles looks up at Derek, “You told me to run. Oh, also, super proud of you for using Polish buddy. Toldja it’d come in handy.”

 

He gives Derek a playful punch and Derek struggles between smiling and looking annoyed. He settles on thinking quietly.

 

“What did you tell him?”

 

“I pretty much answered all his questions with more questions. Pretty sure he was going to kill me if you guys didn’t come. Theo thought it was funny though.” Remembering Theo makes Stiles think about what he said. What did he mean?

 

Derek nods, “Now that they’ve found us, Peter wouldn’t give up this opportunity to fuck with us again.”

 

“…. Okay, don’t tell me if you don’t want to but I need to ask, what happened between you guys? Like, what kind of fucked up stuff did he do? Y’know, so we can prepare ourselves.” Stiles leans forward in his seat a little.

 

Derek looks at Stiles, and ruffles his hair before standing up. _Okay, end of conversation, got it._ Stiles knows by not to push things if Derek ends them.

 

Derek sends Stiles home, and grunts a small “thanks” before driving off. Stiles stumbles into his house, eyelids suddenly growing heavy and forgets to print his essay before sleeping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't really have anything prepped for the next chapter, and I don't really have any ideas for the next chapters. Well I have one, but I'm not exactly sure about it quite yet. If there's a direction that you might want this to go, let me know. If not, I might just add some smut chapters sooner or later. Just, you know, for funsies.

**Author's Note:**

> I'll probably write more. On this. 
> 
> Can't get better without practice. 
> 
> And as you can probably tell. 
> 
> I need practice.


End file.
